Come Fly the Friendly Skies
by Sigridhr
Summary: She didn't anticipate being this nervous.


**Notes:**

Written for the Darcy Lewis Smut Week challenge on Tumblr. The prompt was 'mile high club'.

* * *

The thing is, Darcy's never flown before. She's driven – lived in the back of her car for a couple days on a fast-food fuelled cross-country adventure with her best friend from highschool once, so it's not like she's _untravelled_. But she's not big on airplanes.

There's something about the bumpiness of the take off, and the relentless sound of the jet – like an ever-present reminder that if anything goes wrong she has about a minute to get herself in order before a fiery death in some Midwestern farmer's field.

She hadn't anticipated being this nervous.

There's something about Agent Romanov that just exudes calm. For a while Darcy sort of stares, unsure whether Natasha is even_blinking_ she sits so still. The sound of the jet is unnaturally loud and she can't think of a single thing to say that isn't, 'so, what are the odds we're going to die in a crash before I get to see Jane in New York?'

She's definitely not sure what to make of Agent Romanov. She doesn't like SHIELD much, but, hey, on the flip side, they just sprung for a free plane trip. And, apparently, Jane is now working for them as part of some super-secret-project and she gets to make super-secret-coffee and organize super-secret-data-spreads, but she's not at all complaining. At least it's a job, even if she's not sure what she's allowed to put on her CV when she's done.

But Agent Romanov actually looks like a _spy_. Coulson looked like a bureaucrat, Natasha looks like she genuinely spent her weekend killing people and jumping out windows to the James Bond theme music or something. And, apparently, flying airplanes.

"We're not going to crash," says Natasha, out of the blue, and Darcy nearly jumps out of her seat.

"How the _hell_ did you know I was thinking that?" After a moment's consideration, Darcy adds. "Uh, no offence to your flying or anything."

Natasha glances over at her and gives her an odd, gentle half-smile. "I read your file. You've never travelled by plane before, you held your breath during take off and your hands are still clenching the sides of the seats." She shrugged. "Wasn't a hard guess. Quinjet's safer than most – we'll be fine."

"Sorry," Darcy says, sort of hollow. "How do you know I've never flown before? And what exactly is in my file? I have a _file_?"

"Anyone who's had contact with the Asgardians has a file," says Natasha matter-of-factly. "Yours is fairly comprehensive. Moved twice growing up, Pennsylvania to Connecticut, then to New Jersey. Went to college in New Mexico with a full scholarship, interned for Doctor Foster. Father's a dentist and your mother's a teacher. Got a D in theatre, of all things, in ninth grade."

Darcy gapes at her, but then straightens her shoulders and looks out the window at the clouds with as much dignity as she can muster. "Teacher was an ass," she says. "I hated theatre."

Natasha actually smiles at that. "You did much better in art."

"That's seriously creepy," says Darcy, turning back to her. "Why would you even bother to read all that?"

"I make a point of being informed," says Natasha. "Force of habit – but it can be useful."

"Well, I'm sorry you sat through my entire boring life," says Darcy crossing her arms in discomfort.

"I didn't think it was boring," says Natasha, looking straight out the window.

Darcy doesn't quite know what to say to that, since, frankly, she still feels like her privacy has been invaded, but, on the flip side Natasha is flying the plane and seems nice and she just can't bring herself to fight over it.

"So, uh," Darcy says awkwardly. "How does this normally go?"

Natasha cocks an eyebrow at her. "I don't normally fly civilians," she says. "Or, rather, when I do they're usually in handcuffs."

"Right," says Darcy slowly. "Well, thanks for the five star treatment then. It's appreciated."

"Why did you choose to take an internship for an astrophysicist?" Natasha asks her, her gaze oddly penetrating. "There were other, more relevant internships, but you didn't apply. Your grades were good enough to make you a competitive applicant, but instead you choose to work outside your field in a desert town. Why?"

"Is that what this is about?" Darcy asks, curiously, slouching down in her seat. "I missed the deadlines."

"Deadline for Dr Foster's application was before half the internships available for Poli Sci majors," Natasha replies smoothly. "Told you. I did the reading."

"Yeah, well, maybe I was just interested," says Darcy.

"Maybe you were." Natasha just waits expectantly, and Darcy gives in with a sigh.

"I just – I sort of looked around at my degree and my life and had absolutely no idea what I was gong to do with any of it. Everyone else in my class was talking about internships all the time – about career plans and big opportunities and those stupid little logic tests they make you take, and I just thought that looking at the stars was probably the best chance for avoidance I was going to get and still keep my scholarship."

Natasha smiles at her like she's just confirmed her suspicions.

"So what about you?" Darcy asks. "How'd you wind up a super spy airplane pilot?"

Natasha's expression goes oddly grim and Darcy wonders if that was the wrong question to ask.

"It's cool," she says. "I get it. Tell me and you'd have to kill me."

The set of Natasha's shoulders doesn't _relax_ exactly, but she does seem less like a coiled spring.

"Are you at least allowed to tell me who the weirdest person you've flown in this thing is?"

"No," Natasha says, looking halfway amused. "Though I will say that you are unusual – mostly in that you're fairly normal and haven't done anything atrocious or illegal."

"Thanks," says Darcy, grinning. "I think. I appreciate the ride, though. It's nice of SHIELD to foot the bill. But how'd you get saddled with intern shuttling duty?"

"I volunteered," says Natasha.

"Why?"

Natasha looks at her. "You seemed interesting."

Darcy actually snorts at that. "Really?"

"I appreciate the impulse to get away from obligations you're uncertain how to fulfil," she says. "And I like any mind that can work outside its field. Dr Foster liked your work enough to have you brought in. I wanted to see whether you could be an asset."

"Whoa, _whoa_," Darcy said. "Is this a recruitment speech?"

"Consider it an offer," Natasha says calmly. "I like people who are resourceful, people willing to adapt and overcome. You had a Norse god drop right into your work and the reports are pretty clear you stuck around when Puente Antiguo was levelled. I like people who think for themselves, and who are willing to get things done."

"I think you read the wrong file," says Darcy. "I didn't do much."

"You did enough," says Natasha, and Darcy realises that this is the first time anyone's actually _talked_ to her about Puente Antiguo. Certainly the first time she's been complimented over it.

"Don't sell yourself short," Natasha adds. "Adaptable and smart goes much further than physical strength alone. You could be good – don't underestimate yourself. Let people draw their own conclusions, and twist it to your advantage."

"Do you do this with everyone you try and recruit? The pep talk?" Darcy asks.

"Depends on the person," Natasha says, and turns to look straight at her. "I told you. I find you interesting."

Darcy swallows, suddenly acutely aware of how alone they are on this place, and the _way_ Natasha is looking at her.

"What do you want?" she asks.

Natasha shrugs. "This can go two ways – we can drop this line of conversation, and I can fly you to New York. Or, we can spend the next thirty minutes on autopilot, and I can make you forget about how nervous being in this plane makes you."

"_Seriously_?" Darcy laughs. "Mile high club on the first date?"

Natasha's smile is warm and genuine. "It's no hard feelings either way, Darcy."

"I take it this is also something you don't normally do."

"No," Natasha says. "I do when I choose, but most people don't interest me."

"Why me?" Darcy asks.

Natasha just shrugs. "I like women who speak their mind. I like women who get a D on their report card because they think the script is badly written and they won't say their lines. I like women who try to push a fake ID past our intelligence with nothing more than a copy of Photoshop. You've got guts."

"Yeah, but you're a super _spy_," Darcy says. "Surely there are cooler people."

"I find comfort in seeing ordinary people do extraordinary things in ordinary situations," Natasha says. "I find mundane bravery appealing."

"I think that is the _weirdest_ compliment I have ever received," says Darcy. Then, taking a deep breath, she asks, "is this on autopilot?"

Natasha is dominant and possessive, straddling Darcy's hips and pulling their lips together, and Darcy can feel her breasts pressing up against Natasha's as they kiss and _fuck_ if that isn't the hottest thing ever. She runs her hands up Natasha's thighs, grabbing her ass and pulling her closer.

She's had crushes on girls before, but never gone further than a drunken make-out session with another girl, and it takes her a moment to find the right angle so that she can arch her hips into the press of Natasha's and get the friction she so desperately needs.

Natasha kisses methodically and purposefully, controlled and pulled tight, so Darcy goes as sloppy and messy as she can, running her hands through Natasha's hair, cupping her breasts through her suit, touching every inch of her she can reach because she just wants her to _relax_. It's Natasha who unzips her suit, pulling it down off her shoulders and Darcy laughs.

"I like how they make them easy access," she says, and then doesn't wait for a reply. She just bends down and presses a kiss to the swell of Natasha's breast and runs her thumb along the line of her bra until she feels her shudder. Darcy makes sure she gets to undo the bra – if they're going to do this, she's going to do it right.

Natasha's looking down at her, her brows furrowed and her mouth open, like she's not quite sure what to make of it all, so Darcy stops.

"Is this ok?" she asks.

"Yes," Natasha says, calmly – still poised and under control – and then pulls Darcy's shirt over her head.

Darcy presses a trail of sloppy kisses along Natasha's neck, loving the way sweat is starting to pool at the base of her hairline. She undoes her belt, tossing it aside and pulls the zipper on her suit down all the way, slipping her fingers into her panties and pressing gently on her clit.

Natasha's head falls forward, pressing her forehead against Darcy's, and she swiftly undoes the button on Darcy's jeans, tugging them down just far enough to reach Darcy's clit.

There is absolutely no good reason on earth that Darcy hasn't tried simultaneously finger fucking someone before. She manages to match Natasha's rhythm, stroke for stroke, and with each deliberate swirl of Natasha's finger over her clit, each time she curls a finger inside of Darcy, Darcy does the same back and it's like they're _one_, moving in unison.

Natasha's hips are moving in time with her hand, her back arching in a way Darcy would _kill_ to be able to pull off, and she kisses her, arching up out of the chair and into her hand.

Natasha doesn't make a sound but Darcy doesn't care – they're alone on a plane, and she pushes her hips up even further and says, "harder", crying out every time Natasha's finger makes a quick _perfect_ circle over her clit.

They come at the same time, Natasha shuddering wordlessly as Darcy wraps her leg over Natasha's waist and cries out. They're sweat soaked and Darcy is pretty sure the cabin now _reeks_ of sex, but Natasha is still lying heavy in her lap, her head resting on Darcy's shoulder in the closest thing to a relaxed posture Darcy's seen from her, and she really, really doesn't care.

She's surprised when Natasha kisses her again, slow, long and lingering, before pulling her suit back on and handing Darcy her top. Then, she licks her fingers clean, and Darcy's heart just about stops.

"Pretty sure it's not hygienic to fly that thing," Darcy says, slouched back and dishevelled in her seat, feeling pleasantly warm and tingly.

"I'm not the only pilot," says Natasha. "And if reputations are to be believed, it has seen worse."

Darcy wrinkles her nose. "So gross."

Natasha smiles at her. "I spend a lot of time out of base," she says. "But if you're staying, I'll probably see you again."

Darcy turns her head to look at her, still unwilling to sit up. "After that, you can drop in any time."

Natasha nods. "I meant it about SHIELD – obviously I have personal reasons for recommending you, but you should disregard those. But the rest of it is true, you'd be a good recruit. We do good work."

"I'm not really a government flunkie kind of person," Darcy says. "Uh, no offence."

"Neither am I," says Natasha. "Just think about it."

Darcy pulls herself upright and straightens her top, running her hands through her hair in an effort to minimize the sex-hair look she's definitely got going on. "Sure," she says, non-committaly.

"But this," she gestures between the two of them, "this is no strings attached, right? I mean, this isn't a recruitment thing?"

Natasha actually laughs, and Darcy finds it surprisingly nice to hear – low and full-bodied. "No, it's not a recruitment thing."

"Cool," she says. "Then, sure."

"Good," says Natasha.

Landing in New York is sort of awkward, because she's not quite sure how to say goodbye. She almost high-fives Natasha out of a bizarre desire to do _something_ to acknowledge that they had a) just met, and b) just fucked, but she manages to get a hold of her self and settles for a very awkward "well… bye then."

Natasha gives her a nod and a smile, and before she knows it she's been bundled off to Jane's lab and handed a cup of coffee, and the world seems to right itself beneath her feet. But Jane's first question is, "so, how was your trip?"

And all she can think to say is, "turns out I kinda like airplanes after all."


End file.
